Rooftop Reminiscences
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: A CABIN PRESSURE FANFIC. London. A rooftop. A phone call. Falling is just like flying, right, Martin? Not a crossover, despite my summary! Multi-chapter! Possible trigger warning. Lots of Martin!whump will be within. Rated M for strong angst, depression, mentions of suicide, etc... Chapter Six: Douglas Richardson: Unsure.
1. Above the World

**Rooftop Reminiscences**

**1**

Martin stared down at the bustle of life in London.

This was how he was spending the last hour of his twelve hours of rest between flights, the last hour that they were spending in London. Sitting on the edge of a roof. Watching the bustling life of the average Londoner.

Contemplating life.

He had always liked to be in high places. He'd climbed a lot of trees when he had been young. When he had wanted to be an aeroplane and all that. Not that his like of heights had changed when he decided to be a pilot instead. He still liked being above the world, able to look down at it all.

To look down at his problems was definitely nice.

His financial problems.

His social problems.

Dealing with Douglas's taunting.

Handling the kids with their raucous parties in the shared house.

Pasta not tasting like pasta anymore, because had eaten so much of it.

His van having an odd ticking noise now and again.

When one was above the world, looking down at all of its people, and their lives and their jobs, things didn't look, or feel, so bad.

There was, of course, the inevitable crash landing when he touched ground, though. All of his problems were tangible again, looming over him, ready to destroy him...

There was one thing that could stop all of it.

He could just stand up, on the ledge, on this rooftop, just shift his weight and _fly_.

Because falling was just like flying, wasn't it?

He closed his eyes briefly.

When he reopened them, he stood up.

There was an oddly cheerful chiming noise just then. He flinched from the sudden noise invading his quiet so far above the world before he realized it was his phone. He fished it out of his pocket, checking the I.D. Douglas.

He accepted the call, pressing it to his ear.

_"Martin, where are you? You know as well as I that we have to fly to Rome and we can't very well_ do _that until you join us."_

Martin pressed the phone closer, squeezing his eyes shut. Willing _someone_ to just realize what it was he was dealing with. Just _one_ person, even if it _was _Douglas-

_"Martin?"_

Douglas's voice had changed, taken on a half-annoyed, half-curious tone. Martin didn't reopen his eyes. They stung. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't open his eyes.

_"Martin, I know you're there. I hear the city. Stop ignoring me and tell me you're on your way so Carolyn will stop prancing about, complaining."_

Tears slipped down his cheeks. Shit- he said he wouldn't cry...!

The main concern was wiping away his tears. He forgot he was holding his cheap, pay-by-the-minute mobile. It crashed onto the ledge, bouncing haphazardly onto the building's rooftop. Maybe not so haphazardly- the flip-top mobile completely snapped in two from the impact. The top part went one way, the bottom, the other. Martin stared at it for a moment.

His tears started falling unconsciously. The entire world blurred before he blinked the fuzziness away; tears cascaded down his cheeks relentlessly. He bit his lip- hard, hard enough to taste blood- before sinking back into a sitting position on the ledge.

He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. In the near-silence of the world so far above his and everyone else's problems, Martin buried his face against his knees and wept.

* * *

**Martin!whump. ****_Sherlock_**** references. Multi-chapter.**

**What else does one ****_Cabin Pressure _****Martin-lover need?**

**Unsure what this will evolve into.**

**Reviews are welcome and wanted and appreciated! Thank you!**


	2. Something's Happened to Martin

**2**

There was a crash.

A loud, ear-splitting crash that made Douglas want to wrench the phone away from his ear.

However, he didn't get the chance; silence ensued immediately afterwards, leaving his ear ringing uncomfortably.

"Martin?" he demanded, his eyebrows knitting together. "Martin?"

The steady beep of a dead dial tone.

He frowned, pulling his phone to eye level to look at the screen. Disconnected. He tapped out the prissy pilot's number again, pressing it back to his ear.

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

_"We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please hang up and try your call again."_

Douglas huffed, sliding his mobile closed before replacing it in his pocket. He turned and walked back into the airport.

It had sounded like Martin had dropped the phone. Whether or not Martin had taken a tumble along with the device was another question altogether. Martin _could_ be clumsy- probably more clumsy than most, especially if he was worried or in a hurry.

However, something had been completely off about that phone call. Martin did _not_ stay silent. He couldn't even manage to give someone a proper silent treatment. He always broke. So, _why_ would he be silent now? Douglas hadn't even done anything to annoy the pilot... yet.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, joining Carolyn and Arthur at their seats in the lobby.

"So? Is he on his way?"

"Well, I am thinking he isn't."

"What?" Carolyn asked, her voice bordering on... shrieky. She stood up, looking at Douglas. "What do you mean, you don't think he's on his way?"

"Well, Carolyn, if you'll let me _speak_-"

"Douglas, I do not want to hear you speak unless it is you telling me that my pilot is on his way!"

"I can't tell you that, Carolyn."

"Why _not_?"

Douglas raised his eyebrows, looking down at her.

"_Well?_" Carolyn demanded.

"But, Carolyn, you told me not to speak unless I, in some variation of the word, could say that Martin is on his way."

"Just talk, Douglas. My patience is wearing thin."

He held up a finger. He pulled out his mobile again, once again dialling Martin's number. Five rings-

_"We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please hang up and try your call again."_

He sighed, looking back at Carolyn. "Carolyn, I hate to inform you of this, but I don't think we're going to make our flight to Rome."

"And why _not?_" she demanded.

"Because," he said calmly, although he was quite far from being calm as he placed his phone back in his pocket, "I think something's happened to Martin."

* * *

**Because there's no sort of urgency. At all. Well, none that _they_ know about, anyway. **

**Back to Martinesque whumping next chapter.**

**THANK YOU guys for your support. Now there's Martin!whump and worried!Douglas. [Although his worry hasn't really reached a peak yet.]**


	3. Embrace the World

**3**

His eyes hurt.

He scrubbed his hands against his face, trying to erase the lasting remains of the tears that had been shed.

How pathetic.

Oh, he was tired. So tired.

He dropped his forehead against his knees again, hugging his legs close to him.

It wasn't a good day, was it?

It had started out all fine. He'd woken up, gotten a shower, gone into work. Arthur had been chipper, Douglas had been his usual snarky self, Carolyn had been demanding. The flight itself had gone alright...

... until the fire alarm had started beeping.

Something seemed to always be wrong with GERTI, so alarms weren't that surprising. However. He was a pilot. He had protocol. He _had_ to follow the rules.

Especially when they couldn't find the source of the fire alarm.

So, in between St. Davids and London, Cardiff had been their immediate emergency landing spot.

Carolyn hadn't been pleased. Much less when Martin and Douglas found out that the fire alarm had been going off because Arthur had been trying to bake some biscuits without anyone knowing it.

No, Carolyn had not been pleased.

Nonetheless, they'd managed to get to Central London. It wasn't like Cardiff was that far from London. He hadn't seen _exactly_ why it had been such a big deal. Apparently, it had been.

He sighed quietly, ducking his head further against his legs.

Once they had hit London, more tragedies. All four of them had gotten split up. It wasn't like Martin wasn't used to London; he'd been there more times than he could count on both hands. Most people who lived in the U.K. just _had_ to visit London, right? London was the U.K.'s main attraction.

It was just... busy. Unusually so. Traffic jams. People crowding everyone else. So on, so forth.

It had been an utter mistake to decide to travel via the Underground. Just an... _utter_ mistake.

He was an idiot. Carolyn was right; he _was_ an idiot.

On top of having ramen noodles spilled on him via the Tube, he also managed to get crushed into the far corner. He left with a sopping shirt, smelling of ramen, and with a pounding headache. He had gone to the hotel and fallen asleep.

He'd woken not exactly refreshed, and gone to the rooftop. He always retreated to somewhere high when he was upset. Which was why he was always the happiest when he was flying.

Speaking of flying. He knew he should get back to the airport. It wasn't like he had been deaf to Douglas's phone call, while it had lasted. But, he just didn't... want to move. He didn't want to do anything. Removing himself from the rooftop put him back into the world, back where things were tangible. Getting in a cab meant more traffic jams, yelling cabbies, possibly even having to share a cab with some unfortunate sod. Walking meant it took longer, he'd been surrounded by people on all sides, Carolyn would yell at him for being late, and Douglas would joke about it later. The Underground was not even an option now.

And so, he didn't feel like facing anything.

Which was bad. Bad Martin. You are supposed to keep your chin up.

He raised his head, looking down at the people below him.

Flying. He was always at peace when he was flying. Falling _was_ just like flying...

He stood up.

He looked down.

He closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath...

* * *

**Readers, meet cliffhanger. Cliffhanger, meet the readers. **

**Seriously, as always, your reviews are wholly appreciated.**


	4. Bad Feeling

**4**

"What do you mean, you think something's happened to Martin?" Carolyn demanded.

"He wasn't talking. He answered his phone, but he wouldn't talk. And then it sounded like he dropped his phone or something, before it went dead. I've tried calling him back now, but no answer. He doesn't have a voicemail set up, so..." Douglas trailed off. "I'm going to go back to the, uhm, the hotel. He was still asleep when I left this morning, but he was outside when I called. I'll see if they know anything."

"Is Skip hurt?" Arthur asked, turning melting Toblerones over in his hands.

"Probably not. He probably just dropped his phone and it broke or something. He can be rather clumsy."

Despite his words, Douglas wasn't so sure. He felt like there was something wrong here. And he wasn't sure which part of the picture he didn't like the most, but... There was something that felt off. Once he figured out where Martin was, he could relax, but not until.

"Well, _now _we're not going to make the flight for sure," Carolyn muttered. "We might as well all go back, because we're going to have to rent the hotel for _another_ night."

"Oh, how it will break your bank, Carolyn," Douglas muttered. "I'll get a cab," he said louder, turning and walking back to the entrance. In the meantime, he dialled Martin's number again. Still no response.

"Hell..." he muttered, grumpily ending the call. He wanted to throttle their Captain right now. On top of Carolyn's needless griping that would ensue, he was also making him worry. He'd gotten back to the hotel around eight o'clock. Martin had already been passed out in bed, curled up under the blankets. Douglas hadn't taken the sight to mean that he needed to be quiet, but Martin hadn't even woken up throughout his shuffling about their room. He had seemed utterly dead to the world.

At the time, Douglas had chalked it off as a bad day- and it had been a bad day, especially for Carolyn and Martin- and gone to bed.

Now... well, it just didn't sit right. The flight, last night, Martin not speaking but answering his phone, the crash, and now no response at all.

He hailed down a cab just as Carolyn and Arthur joined him. He absently reeled off the name of their hotel to the cabbie, sliding into the backseat.

"That boy will be the death of me, Douglas. I won't live to see the day where I actually have a competent pilot."

"To be fair, Carolyn, _you_ hired him," he replied, glancing at Arthur as he clumsily took a seat, dropping some of his Toblerones.

"Don't remind me, Douglas."

Douglas looked to the window, blinking slowly. Yes, something was definitely wrong. He normally didn't believe in such things like superstitious bad feelings or sixth senses or anything. But since he had actually started to think about it, he had started to wonder... Started to feel a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and wondered just what was going on that he didn't know about.

He looked back at Carolyn. "Carolyn, give me your mobile."

"What? Why? You have a phone."

"Yes, but I want to call him from a number that does not show my name."

"If you won't answer you, why would he answer _me?_"

"Because he's afraid of you," Douglas said, matter-of-factly. "You can fire him. So, he's scared of you."

"Good point, but my phone's in my bag."

"Oh, here, Douglas! You can use mine!"

"You have a phone?" he questioned, looking between Arthur and Carolyn.

"I've had a phone. Isn't it great, Douglas?" Arthur said, passing his phone to Douglas.

"Carolyn, really?" he muttered, tapping through Arthur's contacts and coming to a stop on 'Skipper'.

"The boy got lost in the middle of the airport on a family thing. He couldn't follow the signs or the announcements to our gate."

"Oh, yes, of course..." he muttered, not paying attention in the least as he waited with trepidation as the phone rang.

Still no answer.

To be honest, he hadn't really expected one.

It was a dull trip to the hotel. Arthur talked about his Toblerones. Carolyn muttered about the money lost on the missed trip. Douglas watched Central London crawl by.

Something was happening. And it was... _literally_... making him feel sick with worry.

"Won't be a minute," he said as the cab rolled to a stop outside of the hotel. He wrenched the cab door open and jogged the short distance of stairsteps, pushing the hotel doors open. He had already turned in his key, so he wouldn't be getting back into the room. He made a beeline for the lobby desk.

"Can you tell me if my friend that roomed with me last night is still here, by any chance? His name's Martin Crieff." He leaned against the desk, looking around. It was still early; hardly anyone was awake. At least, hardly anyone was wandering about the lobby. "We were in Room 17."

"Right, yeah, I remember you two. But both of the keys have been returned. First yours, Mr. Richardson, and Mr. Crieff's an hour later."

"An hour, huh? Hm..." He looked back around the lobby. If Martin wasn't here... Trying to find someone in Central London was trying to find a needle in a haystack. And that's only if he had _stayed_ in Central London.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Richardson," was the greeting from an employee walking up. He looked up, recognizing the receptionist from last night. "Are you back again for tonight?" she asked, looking at him.

"Actually, I think I might be. Is that room still free?"

"Luckily enough, Mr. Richardson, it is. Shall I give you a key for your friend as well?"

"Yes, but speaking of my friend, have you seen him?" he said, appealing to the employee who had just joined them. "Kind of scrawny, always looks a bit flustered, might have been having a bad day last night... You remember him?"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, he handed in his key to me, but then he headed back upstairs. I thought it was a bit odd, because, you know, you'd gone out and he wouldn't have been able to get back into his room without the key, so I asked him, and he said he didn't need it."

Douglas frowned. She was right- Martin couldn't have gotten anywhere without his key. "And when was this?"

"Couple of hours ago."

"Did either of you see him come back down?"

Both receptionists shook their heads. "Deb was working desk at that time."

Douglas sighed, pushing away from the desk. "Thanks, gals. I'm going to pop up and check... Maybe he's wandering the floors like a lost ghost," he joked, taking the keys from the girls.

He kept a brave face, but there was something definitely wrong. Martin just didn't _do_ this. He was all-proper, always on time Martin. He didn't slink around. He didn't _do_ weird things- he stuck to the normal, society-says-it's-proper route, for the most part.

Douglas took the stairs two at a time, planning to snoop around a bit on the four floors the hotel actually had. Hopefully, he could find Martin. Hopefully Martin was still here. Hopefully...

Oh, hell. He had a really bad feeling about this.


	5. Crying

**5**

They say that the world flashed before your eyes before you died.

Martin had never honestly believed it.

But it was true.

So true.

Or, actually, the better parts of his life flashed before his eyes. The better part of his life _after_ achieving his goal. After becoming the pilot of MJN.

Meeting with Carolyn. Knowing that he wasn't going to get the job. Anxiously trying to make up for it: he'd fly for free! Getting the job.

His first encounter with Arthur. He'd been looking for a lemon. Martin hadn't understood. He'd pointed out the lemon: under the nearby seat.

Douglas griping at him not ten seconds later: why did you do that! The travelling lemon. It was a game.

It seemed like an interesting crew. But, what was better: they seemed like a family.

Flying to Abu Dhabi. Could have gone better. Carolyn was angry. The cat was saved.

Flying to Boston. _Definitely_ could have gone better. He'd gotten arrested. But, somehow, it wasn't a bad memory.

So many more flights. The travelling lemon. Trying to chat up girls. Passenger derbies. Simon Says and Brians of Britain and all the rhyming games...

The piano. Douglas and Arthur helping deliver it.

Arthur pretending to be Captain.

The Scottish first officer.

My Jet Now...

Aeroplanes.

Martin reopened his eyes. Stinging again. Jeez. How could he _still_ be _able_ to cry?!

He curled his fingers into fists briefly before stretching his arms out. If he just imagined it... he could touch the world. He could take the entire world in his arms and just give it one great, big hug. A final embrace...

Arms suddenly locked around his, tugging him backwards. He was off balance for a terrifying second before he tipped- backwards- landing back against someone's chest. The arms snaked around him, around his own chest, preventing him from moving. He struggled for a half second, panicking- hell, someone was trying to mug him, kidnap him! His mind immediately went to all the wrong ideas- torture, rape- because it _was_ his luck, wasn't it-

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" rumbled a voice next to his ear.

Martin froze for a half second before his body and mind relaxed, his entire body going limp. He recognized that voice.

"Douglas..." he muttered weakly, closing his eyes.

"No, seriously. What the _hell_ are you doing?" Douglas's voice was different. Angry. Completely angry. Martin hadn't ever heard him so angry.

He'd made someone else angry. Go figure.

"Thinking..." he muttered.

"Martin, I found you on a rooftop about-" Douglas's voice broke off suddenly. Martin had a notion to look up at him, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"Martin, _why_?"

Why? That was a rather dumb question, if Martin could have any opinion about it. Why did anyone ever get depressed? He wasn't about to explain.

"Martin, you..." Douglas trailed off. Martin felt him sigh heavily. "You..." They abruptly slid to the ground. Douglas's arms around him didn't loosen, perhaps only tightened, pulling him closer to his chest.

Inexplicably, his eyes started to sting again.

Oh.

Oh no.

He couldn't.

He couldn't _cry_ in front of Douglas Richardson.

He _couldn't_-

Tears started rolling down his cheeks.

He made a very odd, highly embarrassing squeaking noise, out of surprise, perhaps, as those tears started feeling. He brought his fingers up to his cheeks to brush them away.

"Martin..." Douglas muttered. He didn't sound angry any more. He sounded... sounded...

Martin twisted around and buried his face against Douglas's chest, his withheld tears escaping with uncontrollable sobs.


	6. Douglas Richardson: Unsure

**6**

Douglas hesitantly placed his hand on top of Martin's head, ruffling his hair slightly. He settled his other arm around Martin, holding him loosely.

He was unsure what to do.

Douglas Richardson, for once in his life, was actually unsure what to do.

Okay, not the first time, but the idea was the same. The emotions. Being upset. Crying. That sort of thing. He was not good with handling those sort of emotions. At all.

Truth be honestly told, and he wouldn't tell anyone else if they would ever happen to ask, he was still trying to calm himself down. To calm his still pounding heart. Because, Douglas Richardson, Martin Crieff is perfectly fine. He is in your arms. He is not dead on the pavement four floors below. He is _fine_.

But- if he had gotten there ten seconds later, even five seconds later- Douglas bit the inside of his cheek, drawing Martin slightly closer. As much as he tormented the tolerate pilot, he honestly couldn't imagine not seeing Martin's face every day. Not having Martin exclaiming that he was the Captain. Not having Martin fumbling and bumbling for his words when he was talking to a woman. Not having Martin in the pilot's seat. Not having Martin as a part of MJN.

He couldn't imagine it.

Maybe it was just because he didn't want to.

Martin's entire body was shaking with the force of his sobs.

Douglas let out a breath that he had been unaware he was holding. It ruffled Martin's hair. Douglas slipped his other arm around the shaking pilot, pulling him into a very tight hug.

Douglas Richardson gave wonderful hugs. He knew this for a fact.

And Martin just sort of seemed like he needed a really good hug right now.

Even if Martin didn't hug back.

Martin's fingers were curled around Douglas's shirt, his grip tenacious, unyielding. Douglas didn't try to force him away. He didn't mind having Martin clinging to him, for once. He liked having Martin clinging to him, compared to the alternative.

Douglas was content to sit and hug Martin close, albeit wondering what the _hell_ had caused all of this.

However, he was _not_ content to sit in the _rain_ and hug Martin close. And, apparently, because there weren't enough emotional circumstances right now, the world decided to rain. Because that made everything so much better.

"Martin?" he voice, clearing his throat slightly. "Come on, Martin. Let's go back in. I think you could do with a nice, long, hot bath in the hotel's rather ratty but still usable bathroom."

Martin sniffed heartily, raising his head slightly. He did not meet Douglas's eyes, but Douglas noted that the pilot's eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks tear-stained. He looked pitiful.

The snarky, sarcastic part of himself wanted to break the ice and say that out loud.

However, he ignored that part and helped Martin to his feet instead. He wasn't so heartless.

He gave Martin a weak smile. "I think I can persuade Arthur to run through the rain to the nearby coffee shop if I offer to buy him Toblerones later. What do you like?"

Martin sniffed again, rubbing his nose. "U-Uhm... I usually can't afford fancy coffee..." He said it like a question.

"Okay..." He made a mental note to reanalyze how bad off Martin was, financially. "Strong or weak?"

"... What?"

"Do you like your drinks strong or weak?"

Martin eyed him for a moment. "... I just want coffee..."

"Well, I'm not going to have Arthur try to buy you whisky." He didn't know how he even managed to maintain a sense of normalcy. He really didn't. He just knew that was what Martin needed right now- what he thought Martin needed right now- and he was trying his _damn_ hardest to give the unhappy pilot what he wanted for once. "You like flavouring? Caramel, amaretto, mocha, vanilla..."

"Caramel...?"

"Right. I'll send him for a caramel cappuccino."

He started for the stairwell, a spike of panic welling up when he realized Martin wasn't following. He turned slightly.

Martin was still standing at the spot where Douglas had helped him to his feet. His head was inclined towards the sky. Douglas thought he saw a smile- albeit a sad one- on the pilot's lips as the rain grew steadier.

"Martin?"

Martin glanced back at him. "...Yeah. I'm right behind you."

"Please feel free to walk in front of me. You know me," he said, "I have to put my most important priorities before myself."

He almost flinched after saying that- he was still trying to maintain his normalcy, but he knew that his normalcy could be rather harsh.

Martin stared back at him for a moment before he blinked hard, smiling slightly as he walked forward. "Right... yes... Thank you..." he murmured, casting a side-long glance at him.

"Anytime." He followed Martin back down the stairs quietly. Martin was probably saying 'thank you' for letting him head inside first, but Douglas didn't miss the double meaning behind the words.

* * *

**Oh Martin. You'll get some fancy coffee out of this, at least.**


End file.
